A Flower's Observations
by Snuffles4Eva
Summary: 'I was there, that day, you know' - Prims' tale of The Hunger Games
1. Chapter 1

**A Flower's Observations**

**By **

**Snuffles4Eva**

**A/N: Yes, it's me, but I thought I'd try some Hunger Games instead. Ok?**

**Don't forget to review :)**

**Disclaimer: Yay! I own Sime! Everyone else, nope. **

….

I was there, that day, you know. I heard the name, that fateful name, pulled from the ball that held them. Them. The innocent children. It held their death sentence. I barely heard the babbling of Effie Trinket, the pounding of blood in my ears too great, blocking out all the sounds of the world. Despite the cold, I was sweating slightly. Effie rang out with her signature line; '_Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds _ever _be in your favour!' _

Ha. What did she know? She was probably never in this position. Never had to feel the thick, killer tension that I– that all of us feel today. She probably grew up in the Capitol, eating roast duck and plum stew, drinking hot cocoa, laughing at all the poor tributes, selected just to give her pleasure. I hated her with all my being at that moment. Cruel, sadistic humans, if you could call them 'humans'. Seeking pleasure out of watching children all ages, some barely out of their childhood, others ready to be adults, seeking pleasure about watching them kill each other? What are they, those Romans of the early times, before our world today? Those who would watch wild animals kill others because of their faith? Nope, they're not Romans. They're worse. Blooming sadistic narcissists.

But not only hatred coursed through my veins. The unwelcome but overwhelming sense of anxiety hung over my head like a dark cloud. What if I was picked? The question bounced about my brain, turning up again and again. My mother would say 'turning up like a bad penny'.

Mother. What was to happen to her if I were picked? I'm sure Katniss would provide for her, but she would probably be driven mentally unstable, what with the loss of her husband, and one of her daughters.

Katniss, Gale, Madge – all these names bounced about in my head, 'til I just wanted to clap my hands over my ears, push my way out of this stifling crowd, and run home, not stopping until I was curled up in my bed, covers over my head as I used to do whenever there was a storm. I still don't like lightning.

See. I wouldn't last 10 minutes in the Hunger Games. I'm 12, and afraid of a little lightning, for Pete's sake. I certainly wouldn't come back. There's no hope for me.

Now the sense of anxiety is overpowering, and my world spins as Effie reaches towards the ball. The one with so many death sentences just waiting to picked, and then signed, before the victim even reaches the stage. It made me sick. I'm fairly sure that if I wasn't so nervous, I'd've thrown up all over the shoes of the guy next to me. But the nervousness stopped any other function in my body than the twitching of my eyes, watching Effie Trinket slowly lower her hand into the ball-of-death. Could she do this any slower? The tension is killing all of us here – and one of us will literally be dead by the end of the next, what, two weeks? A fortnight? That's a scary thought. One of us not living to see the next month in. I looked around me at the crowd. Most children I recognised, some I knew well, and some I have never seen before, but all echoed the nervousness and anxiety I was quickly becoming fast friends with.

I searched the crowd for Katniss. There she was, standing a little way behind me, her face turned so I couldn't see. I figured she must be looking at Gale, so I moved to turn around again. Before I did, her head came swinging round, and she caught my eye. She offered me a weak smile, which I returned before turning around again, and watching Effie Trinket rummage around in the ball. I focused in on all the small slips of white paper in there. 20 of them have _Katniss Everdeen_ on, written with very careful handwriting. One of them has my name on – _Primrose Everdeen_. What is the likelihood? I repeat this question over and over in my mind, trying to convince myself that it wasn't going to be me, and I was being selfish, worrying about my one name, instead of thinking about Katniss' twenty.

Effie pulled a small, white slip of paper from the ball, and walked over to the podium. Hoping and praying it wasn't me, the sense of anxiety overwhelmed me, and I almost fainted, if it wasn't for Sime, who held me up. Sime is my best friend. He has 3 older brothers who have escaped the Hunger Games before, and he's hoping he will too. Secretly, so am I.

I watch as Effie unrolls the slip of paper, and takes a deep breath, preparing to read out the name of the poor, unsuspecting victim. Praying to all people who I hoped were up there, I took a deep breath, and attempted to calm myself, convincing myself it wasn't going to be me.

'Primrose Everdeen'

I promptly fainted.

….

**A/N: Is it worth carrying on? I don't know whether to concoct some more chapters for this, or just leave it as a, rather brief, oneshot… I'll do what you'll think, but if ya don't reply, I'll do what I think. Fair Deal?**

**Review!**

**Snuffles4Eva**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Flower's Observations**

**By**

**Snuffles4Eva**

**A/N: Here's another chapter, if you wanted it.**

**Disclaimer: Yep, 'cos I'm definitely Suzanne Collins.**

…

Being slapped awake by Sime isn't really that pleasant. But when I realised what had happened, all I wanted was to fade into that blackness once again. At least the blackness didn't want to kill me.

But I have to get up as Sime pulls me, and I walk, like a robot towards Effie Trinket and her podium, bile rising in my throat. I hear the crowd murmuring, but no-one steps forward. My hands ball up as I'm determined not to cry, and I can only dream about what I must look like. My blouse has un-tucked itself, but that's not the reason why a painful shiver wracks my body, as I can feel heat, mingled with hope, escaping my small form.

That's when I hear it. 'Prim!' A strangled cry snaps my head back towards the crowd, searching for the speaker. I know who it is, but I can't bear it to be true. 'Prim!' there is a shout again, and I can see there is a ruckus being created in the crowd. Straining to see where she is, I can feel my face scrunched up in a mix of emotions; Love, Worry, Desperation – Sadness. Why did this have to be me? Why did it have to involve – Katniss. There she was, the crowd parting for her, running towards me. She grabs my arm, and forces me behind her, before I hear her sign her life away.

'I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!'

It's a good as a death sentence.

…

I've always wondered what it was like to be on Death Row. I got close to it today. I can only imagine what Katniss is thinking now. But I know what it's like to be saved. Katniss just sacrificed her life so that I could stay here, safe in District 12. I don't know how to process that.

…

Effie's doll face suddenly scrunches up, and it appears like she is thinking. At any other time I probably would've found this comical, but now I hated her beyond belief. I hated her, I hated the Capitol, I hated the President, and, most of all, I hated the Huger Games. They would take my sister away from me; Yet not only would they my sister from me, they would take my mother's daughter from her. Our food supplier from us. Our life support from us. How were we to survive?

The Hunger Games had not only as good as killed her; it had also as good as killed us.

And the people at the Capitol thought this was entertainment? I would like to say I was nauseous, but I wasn't. I was so disgusted, I felt sick, and my world spun.

Katniss began to move away from me. Terror gripped me, as my brain registered she was moving towards certain death. My arms wrapped around her in a vice grip, and I started screaming in horror.

'No, Katniss! No! You can't go!' I wailed, unashamed, crying in front of the whole of District 12. 'Prim, let go' she commanded, and I have never heard her speak to me like that. She used a harsh and unfeeling tone. I knew this wasn't her, so I didn't let go. I would never let go.

I faintly recall her commanding me to 'Let go' once again, before my misery overtook my brain, and I flat out sobbed, still clinging to her back. I remember being torn off of her, and hearing Gale's voice: 'Up you go, Catnip'. It was the first time that I have ever heard Gale have to fight to keep his voice steady.

Effie Trinket looks like a kid at Christmas. I must look like the child facing the Grim Reaper, as Gale carries me back to my mother, who is also crying quietly. He leaves me huddled to her, and goes back to stand in the crowd of teens, all holding their breath as they witnessed the scene. Doll-faced Effie is gushing to Katniss, sickly sweetness oozing from her aura.

'That's the spirit of the Games!' hah, hypocrite. I don't think she even knows what 'the spirit of the Games' is. If we all had it, 'the spirit of the Games', then I reckon we would've massacred one another within the space of five minutes. What does Effie Trinket know about the Games? She will have only watched them – for enjoyment. Anger flared within me as I watched Trinket gush over my sister, sadistically taking immense pleasure in the fact that she has just signed her death sentence.

'I'll bet my buttons that was your sister' Boy, we've got a smart one. I was so angry; I was starting to make fun of her. Not that she didn't deserve it.

I tuned Effie out for the rest of the time. I saw Haymitch stumble on, and congratulate Katniss, and practically insult the Capitol, but I didn't care. I watched him fall off the stage, and knock himself unconscious, and I saw Effie trying to collect herself back together, as she headed for the other ball of names. The other ball of death sentences. The one that had Gale's name in it 46 times, just waiting to be signed. But I still didn't care. I felt like the life and the energy had been sucked right out of me, like poison from a wound. The last thing I remember doing was putting my three middle fingers on my left hand to my lips, and raising them to salute Katniss. The salute I was giving my own sister was the salute that is usually seen on only one occasion: A Funeral.

….

**A/N: For all those non-existent followers, here it is. And I would just like to say that, if ya gonna burn, then chuck the remainders away as well, will ya?**

**Snuffles4Eva**


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